A Confusion of Murders Read online

  He turns and raises his hand in a wave and I stare at him and try to keep the shock from showing on my face. I give a feeble wave and quickly close the front door. I lean my head against the cool glass, my heart pounding and a rushing in my ears.

  The last time I saw Suzanne Jenkins she was going into the house next door to Linda. The house for sale. But what I’ve only just remembered was that there was someone walking in front of her, I could just see the top of his head. Someone with strange apricot coloured hair.

  Is it him? Is he the Frogham throttler? He can’t be can he? My Dad’s perfectly ordinary-estate-agent-next-door neighbour? Maybe I’m being ridiculous, but I must tell Gareth. I fumble in my handbag for my phone, so much junk in there. There it is; I pull out one of Sprocket’s nibbled rubber bones, I fling it back in and rummage again.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ says a voice from behind me. I freeze and turn around. Simon is standing in the kitchen doorway.

  I stare at him open mouthed, how did he get in?

  ‘How...?’

  ‘You’re wondering how I got in?’ He cuts me off, grinning, he holds up a key and dangles it from his fingers as if it were a prize. ‘Back door key. Tom gave me it. I persuaded him to in case he ever took ill.’ He smiles a small, cold smile.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ My voice is quivering. I feel sick.

  ‘Oh, I think you know, Louise. I think you know. I wasn’t sure, thought maybe I’d got away with it. But your face gave you away as I left. You’d be no good at poker.’

  Oh. My. God. It is him. I stare in shock, my feet rooted to the floor.

  He steps closer and I stupidly step back towards the stairs. The front door, why didn’t I open the front door and run? Too late, too late.

  ‘So now,’ he says, raising his eyebrows, ‘the question is what are we going to do about it?’

  I’m going to die.

  Chapter 16

  ‘You should have kept your nose out. Left well alone.’

  ‘I… I don’t know what you mean. What do you think I’ve done?’ I’m playing for time. I hope.

  ‘Going to my house on Tuesday. Did you think I wouldn’t know? I saw you, remember?’ His mouth is twisted into an ugly sneer.

  ‘I was taking the post round, that’s all.’ I edge backwards to the stairs.

  ‘That’s what she said. But I know when someone’s spying on me. And your face just confirmed it.’

  ‘No, no, I was.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he goes on in a conversational tone, ‘I was going to wait a while until the next one, but you’ve spoilt that now.’

  I watch as he pulls a knife from his trouser pocket. It’s not a big knife, probably six inches long, but it’s long enough; the blade sharp and shiny. He has surprisingly well muscled arms. I’ve always thought of him as weedy.

  ‘Thought I’d have a change this time, do a bit of cutting instead of throttling.’ He chuckles to himself. ‘The Frogham Throttler, who thought that up? You?’

  ‘Don’t say anymore. Let me go and I won’t tell anyone.’ Lame and desperate but anything is worth a try.

  ‘We both know you will.’

  ‘Did you use that key to come in here and frighten Dad?’ I need to keep him talking.

  ‘Yeah. It was fun. You should have seen his face when he came downstairs in the middle of the night and found all the lights and the TV on. He nearly caught me one time. Just managed to get out of the back door in time. Old fool.’

  I feel a flash of anger, poor Dad. ‘He’s not an old fool, he’s ill, and you were supposed to be his friend. You came in here and terrorised him.’

  He snorts, ‘Friend? Tight old bastard. I offered him a good price for that land. But would he take it? No, he wouldn’t. Nobody needs a garden that big. His shed has been very useful though, but he knew someone had been in there. I managed to persuade him it was Herman Munster next door. Didn’t take much persuading either. I knew he was getting forgetful so let’s just say I helped confuse him a bit more. It couldn’t have suited me better when he went into hospital.’

  ‘You’re sick. And what about the shed? There’s nothing in the shed.’ I’m stalling for time. I dread to think about what might have been in Dad’s shed.

  ‘Not now. Nothing to incriminate me now. Watched that retard Brendan fawning all over you and that dog the other day. Sickening. He owes me a padlock.’

  That’s why Sprocket was whining, he could tell he was there.

  ‘But enough of that. Must get on. Eliminate the problem.’

  ‘Why? Why did you kill those women?’

  ‘’Why?’ He looks up at the ceiling, enjoying himself. ‘Why not? It was too easy, those fools in the police are nowhere near catching me and to be honest after the first one I quite enjoyed it. Although she was an accident. Poor Suzie.’

  I hear myself gasp when he says her name.

  ‘Got ideas above her station, wasn’t happy with being a bit on the side, reckoned she was going to tell my wife so we could start a new life together.’ His face twists into a sinister sneer. ‘Well I didn’t want to start a new life, quite happy with the one I’ve got.’ He looks at me. ‘It won’t work you know.’

  ‘What won’t work?’

  ‘Trying to keep me talking, I know what you’re trying to do but it’s pointless, no-one is going to rescue you.’

  ‘I’ve told the police.’

  ‘What?’ He looks uncertain for the first time. ‘What have you told them?’

  ‘You. I told them about you.’

  He studies my face, looks me up and down. ‘You’re a useless liar. If you’d told them I’d have been arrested by now.’

  ‘I told them I saw Suzanne going into that house for sale, in Conyers Road.’

  He frowns. ‘Hmm, even if you have it might be problematic, but not insurmountable. But, anyway…’ He advances towards me. ‘That’s not going to save you, it’ll take weeks to connect that to me. By which time you’ll be very dead.’

  He’s right. By the time Linda raises the alarm it’ll be too late. She’ll just think I’m sorting stuff out for Dad and it’s taking longer than I thought.

  ‘But I like an audience, so I’ll tell you, we’ve plenty of time,’ he points at me with the knife, ‘The funny thing is I nearly got caught by your idiot friend with the poodle.’

  He laughs at my surprise.

  ‘You’ve not got all of it worked out have you? I left Suzie’s body in the house next door to your friend, the hippy one with the dog. We used to meet there and then, ah, things got out of hand, and she had to die. Which was fine until the house was sold and I had to move her. I’d just hauled her out into the backyard to put her in my car and that poodle ran in and starting sniffing around and barking at me.’

  So, he beat Norman up.

  ‘That idiot followed it in to see what it was barking at. I’m stood there with Suzie’s body rolled up in an old blanket, so I had to do something. I went out and jumped him before he could come in and catch me. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I did think about it but then it would have been another body to get rid of.’ He shrugs and raises his eyebrows. Bastard is enjoying this.

  ‘But why did you take his dog?’ More pathetic stalling from me, even though he’s told me it’s pointless.

  ‘Fucking thing bit me.’ His lip curls in a sneer. ‘Chased after me and was trying to defend that idiot. Picked it up and put it in the boot, I was going to kill it but changed my mind. Didn’t want the mess. I let it out of the boot after I’d dumped Suzie’s body.’

  ‘You’re sick.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he says, stepping towards me, ‘much as I love to chat I must get on.’

  ‘Glenda.’ I shout, stepping back. ‘Why Glenda?’

  ‘Why not? She wanted to buy a rental, showed her around a few properties but she treated me like her lackey. Kept giving me the come on and then got all offended when I made a pass at her. Snooty bitch. Said she was going report me. Couldn’t have that. Wasn’t so snooty by the
time I’d finished with her.’

  ‘Oh God.’ I can feel myself shaking.

  He stares at me and puts his head to one side. ‘Enough talking.’

  I’m still holding my handbag and I tighten my grip on it; the glimmer of a plan floating around in my head.

  He holds up the knife and turns the blade this way and that, scrutinising it.

  ‘Yes. I think I’m going to enjoy this. You might not.’

  My insides turn to jelly and with trembling hands I swing my handbag at him and let it go. I race up the stairs and as I get to the landing I can hear his feet thundering up behind me. Run! My brain is screaming, run! I hesitate too long, and I feel him grab my hair from behind. I wrench myself free leaving him with a handful of hair, my scalp smarting. He stumbles backwards down the stairs and look around the landing frantically wondering where to go. The bathroom has a lock, but he’ll soon break that down. Mind made up I race into the back bedroom and slam the door. I look round desperately for something to put up against the door. I don’t have long.

  Nick’s old single bed, a heavy oak chest of drawers and dressing table. With strength I didn’t know I had I drag and pull the chest of drawers from under the window across the room. I silently pray that I can block the door before he gets to it. With pushing and shoving I force it across the doorway and wedge it under the handle. It won’t stop him for long; I look around for something else: the bed.

  I grab the end of the bedstead and pull, nothing. I heave again but it won’t budge. I waste valuable seconds standing staring at the bed wondering what to do. I massage my scalp where he pulled out my hair, my hand comes away bloody.

  I wish I had my mobile phone. Damn! I curse myself for throwing my handbag at him. But I had to do something, it was all I had.

  It’s very quiet, I thought he’d be breaking the door down by now.

  I tiptoe to the door and put my ear against the wood.

  Silence.

  Is he trying to fool me to get me to come out? Where is he?

  I dash over and look out of the window to see if he’s outside; the garden is empty. I try the handles to open them. The windows are solid UPVC windows with double glazed shatter proof glass, I yank harder on the handles and they don’t even move. Locked. Where are the keys? I pull open the drawers and move the clothes around, run my hand along the bookshelves. Nothing. I could search for hours and not find them.

  Perhaps I could break the windows with something? I look for something heavy, there’s an old wooden footstool; I pick it up and swing it by the wooden legs at the window. It bounces off. I swing it again and again, but it makes no impression at all.

  Oh God.

  I run over to the door and put my ear to it again.

  Silence.

  What’s he doing out there? Has he gone? Even if I could break a window he could be waiting outside. But I could scream if I could get it open, maybe someone would hear me.

  Why would he go? I’m trapped in here, he can take his time.

  I look out of the window and curse the fact that the house isn’t overlooked at all. I could stand at the window naked and be sure that no-one would see me. Even if Brendan were in his garden he wouldn’t be able to see me as the trees are so overgrown.

  I hear a noise from the door. It sounds like hammering.

  Think.

  THINK.

  I can’t think. I’m going to die. I don’t want to die.

  He’s there now.

  At the door.

  The banging’s getting louder.

  A weapon, I need a weapon.

  I pull open drawers and rummage through them, nothing. The wardrobe is full of clothes. Only clothes, of course.

  Maybe a coat hanger could be a weapon, if I can find a wire one. I frantically pull jackets, coats and shirts from the hangers flinging them to the floor. Wooden hangers, padded silk hangers but no wire hangers. Useless.

  I spy Mum’s sewing basket on the dressing table, there must be scissors in there. I rush across the room and try to open it, but my fingers won’t work and I can’t undo the clasp on the box.

  Oh God. The hammering’s getting louder and I hear the splinter of wood. I look at the door and see the blunt end of a lump hammer poking through the wood. That explains the silence, he must have gone and got the hammer. The wood cracks and splinters as the hammer is pulled out and swung again.

  I finally manage to wrench open the sewing box and empty the contents onto the floor. I fall to my knees and run my hands over the contents.

  Scissors!

  I pick them up and slip my fingers into the handles and almost sob with frustration – they’re pinking shears, blunt ended, completely useless.

  Needles. Useless.

  But hang on what’s that.

  A gun.

  Dad’s Luger. In Mum’s sewing box.

  I pick it up with both hands, it’s heavy.

  Bullets, where are the bullets?

  I don’t know but it doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t know how to load it anyway. Perhaps I can hit him with it. Or break the window.

  Another loud splinter. There’s a small hole in the door and he’s looking through it at me. I look away, I can’t be distracted, I don’t have time.

  I turn the gun round and hold it by the barrel, I get up and stand in front of the window and bash the gun against glass with all my strength. The faintest hairline crack appears.

  Yes!

  I can do this.

  More noise from the door, I look over to see Simon’s head emerging through the hole. He looks at me and laughs showing greying teeth. His face is flushed and sweat is running down his face.

  I turn and hit the window again and again with the gun as hard as I can, my shoulders aching with the effort, more hairline cracks appear. I can hear someone whimpering.

  It’s me.

  Simon’s barking laughter grows louder.

  I keep hitting the window and more cracks appear but they’re tiny and when I push my hands against them they don’t even move. The futility of it all hits me.

  It’s useless, I can’t get out.

  I’m going to die.

  I turn the gun around and hold it by the handle and point it at him.

  ‘Not that old thing. Give up Louise, make it easier on yourself.’

  The hole in the door is bigger now, he pulls his head back through and I hear more wood being yanked away from it then the swing of the hammer again. Satisfied that the hole is big enough he clambers through onto the chest of drawers. He sits there for a moment catching his breath, watching me.

  He jumps down and comes towards me and I back away as far away as I can, until the window sill cuts into my back and I can go no further. I’m trapped.

  ‘Well, you’ve made it more difficult than it should have been Louise, and I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for that.’ He’s getting closer and I can smell the sweat on him, the heat radiating from his body. He runs a sweaty hand through his apricot hair.

  I point the gun at him with both hands.

  ‘Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot.’

  He throws back his head and laughs.

  ‘Go ahead, it’s not even loaded.’

  I put my finger on the trigger. ‘I will, I’ll shoot you.’

  He pulls the knife from his pocket and runs his finger along the blade. ‘Let the fun begin.’

  A strange feeling of calm settles over me.

  This is it, this is how it ends.

  Goodbye world.

  I close my eyes and pull the trigger.

  Chapter 17

  I can’t see.

  There’s a deafening, ringing noise.

  Blackness.

  Am I dead?

  The ringing turns to banging.

  I open my eyes. Bright white light. Am I in heaven?

  The white light gradually turns into the white artex on the ceiling.

  I’m not dead. I’m lying on the floor by the window, still holding the gun in my hand.
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  Someone’s screaming. Is it me?

  I swallow. No, it’s not me.

  My head hurts, I slowly turn and see Simon lying on the floor by the door, he’s screaming and rolling around, there’s blood, lots of blood. The blood is seeping into the green and pink roses on the carpet, turning them black. A part of me wonders why I’m noticing this.

  He sees me looking at him. ‘You fucking bitch, you shot me! Get me some help. I’m dying.’

  I sit up and the room spins momentarily.

  I slowly stand up and step towards him.

  The gun was loaded.

  ‘Help me!’ he screams. ‘Help me, you sick bitch.’

  ‘You’ll live,’ a cold voice says. ‘A bullet in the leg won’t kill you.’ I realise the cold voice is mine.

  The banging is getting louder, it’s coming from downstairs. It’s the sound of a battering ram breaking down the front door.

  ‘Help me,’ snivels Simon.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I stand over him and point the gun at his chest.

  ‘No, no, please don’t kill me.’ He screams and yelps. Like a dog.

  ‘You were going to kill me,’ I say.

  He pulls himself upright on his elbows and scrabbles backwards dragging his injured leg. Blood pumps over the floor.

  The sound of splintering wood as the front door caves in and then voices shouting my name.

  Simon looks at me and smiles. ‘Too late, bitch,’ he hisses.

  I take aim and pull the trigger and enjoy the look of horror on his face.

  Click.

  No bullets.

  The thump of feet running up the stairs, men shouting.

  ‘Louise! My God! Louise.’ Gareth climbs through the hole yelling orders at people I can’t see. ‘In here! She’s in here!’

  I watch him come towards me, but I am unable to move. He looks down at Simon and moves me away from him then gently prises my fingers from the gun and gathers me in his arms.

  ‘Thank God you’re alive.’ His face is grey. I can feel him shaking.

  I let him hold me, my arms dangling uselessly by my sides. I can’t speak, I’m exhausted, utterly spent. Numb. My fingers ache. I rest my head into his chest.